


Winding Down

by quokkall



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M, Friendship, TIVA - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 05:13:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8358667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quokkall/pseuds/quokkall
Summary: The heating at Tony's building breaks down and Ziva, reluctantly, offers him her couch.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This was inspired by a post I read on tumblr about how "relaxing" women are generally portrayed. It didn't turn out the way I intended, but, oh well, hopefully you'll enjoy it anyway.

Tony followed Ziva into her apartment and closed the door behind him. She slid her bag towards the couch, shrugged off her coat and threw it towards the coat rack. He’d seen her nail that particular move dozens of time, this time the jacket fell to the floor in a crumpled heap. Tony quirked an eyebrow at her eye roll but kept quiet. The past week had been, shall we say, unpleasant. Not to mention exhausting.

He knew she needed space after spending so much time cooped up with the whole team. But really, it wasn’t his fault the heating at his building had broken down. And it wasn’t like he had many options; Tim and his girlfriend hadn’t seen each other in weeks, so he wasn’t going to crash that romantic get-together; the last, and only, time he had stayed at Abby’s had given him nightmares for weeks (not that he would ever admit it); and Gibbs…let’s just say that after the past few days, he’d had more than enough of the boss-man to last him through the rest of winter.

Ziva had offered her couch with a sigh. When he had suggested a hotel instead, not wanting to crowd her, she had looked personally offended and he had quickly accepted her offer. As long as he had a place to crash there was no point arguing over it.

Ziva rolled her neck and there was a pop so loud it made him cringe. He dumped his bag and coat next to the door and for a second thought Ziva was going to take off her sweater. What exactly was she doing? She caught him staring and glared.

“What! I have worn this bra for 48 hours straight, I am sick of it.”

Before his brain had a chance to catch up, she held up the bra, still fully dressed (was there a secret manual on how to do that), and threw it at his face. She stalked off towards the kitchen, but turned on her heels after only a few paces, once again glaring at him.

Catching the bra had been pure reflex. And yes, when he caught a whiff of Ziva when the flimsy garment almost hit him in the face his mind went to places it really had no business going. It wasn’t even that alluring, plain white cotton, but he couldn’t stop from running his thumb over the material knowing where it had been. For 48 hours straight, as Ziva had pointed out so helpfully. Well, that hadn’t been helpful at all, really, given the circumstances.

Her gaze dropped to his hands and he swore he could see her nostrils flare. That wasn’t fair. He hadn’t done anything. Not consciously. Should he have let it fall to the floor?

Ziva was in his face in a split second. “Give me that,” she said with a snarl and yanked the piece of clothing from his hands before turning around and heading for her bedroom this time.

“You’re the one who threw it at me,” he said and sent a glare of his own at her back.

Ziva stopped, almost mid-stride. Part of him prepared for a fight. Looked forward to it even. Another part regretted opening his mouth. She was doing him a favor by letting him stay here, and he knew it went against her need for solitude right now. He should let her vent and keep out of her way as much as possible.

Her body posture was rigid and Tony was certain he was in for a tongue-lashing. If only her English would fail her and she took it literally—physically. Now that could get interesting. Why did his mind have to go there? Again. Oh, right, because she threw her damn bra at him and they spent the past two days stuck in a surveillance van.

But then, suddenly, the fight seemed to leave her body. She barely turned her head in his direction and said, “Can you order some pizza? There’s beer in the fridge.”

By the time she emerged from her bedroom, wearing flannel pajamas and an oversized hoodie, the pizza was on its way and two uncapped bottles of beer were waiting on the coffee table. The television was on, but he hadn’t paid too much attention to it, simply flipped channels until a black and white movie appeared.

Ziva sat down at the other end of the couch and dropped her head back. “I am exhausted,” she said and ran her hands over her face before looking at him.

Tony gave her a sympathetic smile. Unlike the rest of them, she had chased down and fought their suspect, operating on no sleep, very little food and coffee fumes. He took a sip from his beer, then tipped the bottle towards her face.

“Your make up’s smeared, shouldn’t you remove it?” The hellfire that suddenly lit up in her eyes made him flinch. “Or, you know, you could just leave it on.”

There was a knock at the door signaling the arrival of their food. Tony was off the couch and at the door in no time, grateful for the interruption.

He had ordered her favorite, of course. A chuckle escaped his lips when Ziva’s hand was already inside the box before he had even fully opened it. She took three huge bites of a slice and swallowed with barely any chewing, only to take another two before slowing down a little. Tony’s stomach growled to remind him she wasn’t the only one who was hungry.

When they were down to the last slice, he shoved the box in her direction. Ziva raised an eyebrow. Usually when they were this hungry, the last slice was fought over. Physically or verbally. Sometimes both. But never too seriously.

He shrugged. “You took down our murderer.”

She gave him a half-smile, and when she finished the slice he threw her a napkin.

“You eat like a toddler sometimes, David.”

“Says the man with chorizo on his shirt.”

Tony looked down at his wrinkled but otherwise clean shirt. He huffed, “It was vegetarian pizza.”

A twinkle appeared in her eyes and he was glad she was feeling better now that she had some food in her stomach.

“Made you look,” she said and playfully kicked his thigh with a socked foot.

Ziva stretched and yawned loudly, ending up in a slouched position with her feet propped up on the coffee table. He gave her another look and warmth spread through him when he realized how comfortable she was around him. At the moment, she didn’t look sexy by any stretch of the imagination, but if he wasn’t so afraid she would kick his ass for it, he would probably stare at her all evening.

Light snoring drew his attention away from the screen not fifteen minutes later. The bruise on her jaw seemed to be darkening by the minute and visible even in the dim light of the television. If she spent another half hour with her head at that angle, her jaw wouldn’t be the only thing sore in the morning.

Tony nudged her awake and when she looked at him with wide eyes, clearly not fully aware of her surroundings, he said, “Go to bed, your snores are keeping me awake.”

Ziva rubbed her face again as she sat up, smudging the make up even more.

“You look like Dolly Parton,” Tony said circling his eyes with his fingers. At her blank stare he looked down at her chest with a grin and said, “Maybe not.”

Ziva stood up and met his gaze, crinkles appearing next to her eyes. “Half-ass flirting will not get you into my bed, Tony.”

“I thought I was full-assing it, but, good to know, for future reference.”

He winked, she chuckled, and walked towards her bedroom.

“Pillow and blankets are in the ottoman. Good night, Tony.”

He made the couch and stripped to his boxers and shirt. Once comfortable, he stared at the TV, mind wandering, thinking about how lucky he was to have a best friend like Ziva. Even if, on a bad day like today, she looked like a panda who wanted to punch his lights out.

 


End file.
